SALVATION chapter 20

Salvation
Part II
Chapter 20

Denver, Colorado
Friday,October 3rd 9:AM

Sal Fox enjoyed a vigorous breakfast at Ellyington's restaurant pied-a-terre within the atrium-style Brown Palace Hotel in down town Denver.
His view from the four star triangular landmark over looking City Park was remarkable. Fall colors burst scintillating bouquets of aspen gold amidst vivid hues of blush, elm apricot, cerise, and evergreen.
Cradled at 5,280 feet just east of Rockie Mountain snow crowned peaks, Denver is an inter-fusion of modern city skyline and rich history dating to the 1858 Pikes Peak Gold Rush.
This morning Fox barely seemed to notice. For the first time in over thirty hours he dared confidence a future in the music industry-and an appetite.
The ensuing events of last nights dinner hosted in the Grand Ball Room of the Brown Palace occupied his thoughts while gobbling down a three egg Denver omelet, buttered toast and coffee.
Through out Thursday the big three music corporations had converged behind reticent doors at the Colorado Convention Center. The meetings summating in a press release detailing a startling bold strategy and change of venue appertaining the Battle of the Bands event.
Sal spent the majority of that day in expectation of a phone call. Pacing between his laptop on the hotel suite's writing desk to the bay window over looking Speer Boulevard's mint green semi-circular bridge work and commuter traffic below.
Stock's had tumbled over the last twenty four hours as frightened share holders reacted. Preliminary damages in wake of the deadly music release had skyrocketed into hundreds of millions of dollars.
Someone had to pay.
Good news was on the rise however. Medical science was making remarkable progress in the treatment of those unfortunate's exposed to the music. Over booked hospital wards were beginning to thin out as a successful drug treatments related to the control and maintenance of psychotic disease were restoring patient's sanity. Los Angeles, by far the hardest hit city, had bounced back expeditiously thanks to an unprecedented display of Federal, State, County, and local authorities working in a spirit of cooperation.
As initial shock of the tragic event began to subside. Naturally fingers would begin pointing in an effort to pinpoint where the bulk of responsibility should rightfully rest.

Surely CEO Terry Washburn would wish to demonstrate competency in the eyes of Universal, EMI and Sony. Minimal damage to the industry a key factor. It would be demonstrative skills of scheme and action that ultimately determine Washburn's survival at the top, or crashing descent to the bottom.
Sal saw himself a perfect victim of that action.
Surely Mister Washburn had no intention of allowing blame to rest on his own shoulders. His course of action was as predictable as a sunrise. He would hack off the heads of those previously involved with the band MENACE and move forward with a plan of diversion designed to recover the confidence of stockholders.
Thursday ticked by and Sal still had received no phone call. 11:AM, noon, 1:PM...He found no shelter in those hours. No faint hope that within the passage of time perhaps Washburn had chosen some alternate recourse. Instead, the silence of unknowing fed his trepidation creating building blocks of narrowing focus.
He began to singularize himself as a caged animal. A captured wolf pacing the confines of it's enclosure-reduced to a single thought. The resemblance enraged him- as it was so unbecoming of the Sal Fox he knew himself to be.
From earliest recollection he had always been a scrappy survivor. Raised in the streets of Brooklyn he identified within himself the uncanny talents of an alley cat-always landing on his feet. That natural ability had
been until now his life's forte.
He Stood at the suite's bay window mendicating himself to think. Below the hotel City Park's 314 acres of green turf spiraled outward from a huge central flat ground. Breaking the expanse were intermittent small lakes and groves of aspen trees-walking paths-restroom facilities. The vibrant show of colors did not impress him however something inherent in the park's size did..
His memory churned, gnawing at the maze of recycled anxiety gripping his thoughts all day.
He'd just turned from the scene pinching the bridge of his nose when impetuous dawning washed over him. An enlightenment so profound it hurdled through his vocal cords expelling it's self in speech.
"This is where Denver hosts their annual summer jazz festival."
He turned from the window rushing to the writing desk. Pulling up an e-mail program he hammered at the keyboard in ferocious determination..
Five hours later he had still not received a single correspondence from Corporate management.
He showered and dressed in his finest suit preparing for the 6PM dinner sponsored by Universal in the Grand Ball Room.
The itinerary for Friday's meetings arrived via e-mail at 5PM and Sal made mental notes of the times, and conference rooms all located at the Colorado Convention Center.
A memorial luncheon dedicated to the passing of his predecessor Kenneth Anderson was to take place at noon.
He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all day telling himself his hands shook due to the constant cups of coffee he'd consumed. All the while suspecting the tremors might also be relating the state of his nerves.
Tonight's dinner would be a testing of the reception he could expect at tomorrow's meetings should he still be game-fully employed at that time..
His stomach flip-flopped at the closeness of the hour. He must find the courage to face the crowd downstairs..A comparatively minor task as the company in the Ball Room would be limited to Universal management and their employees..If he survive the night, Friday's scrutinizing eyes will include employees of BMI and Sony Music Corporations as well. Sal suspected even the trendy 40 foot Blue Bear sculpture poised peeking in the centers lobby would have eyes only for him.
The fourth floor elevator was thankfully empty. He pressed the second floor key and the car descended without stopping. It paused and opened to a hallway he navigated down a long corridor toward the rear of the building- the widest section of the triangle building- opening to the expanse of The Ball Room.
Sal felt a surge of confidence as he entered the room. The fact he was part of the elegant atmosphere displayed here was a ego booster in and of it's self.
The Grand Ball Room was graced with huge chandeliers. It's walls tastefully draped in several gold hues. Much of the gleaming wood floor was covered for the dinner arrangement. Divided by thick embellished rugs of blue and orange laid beneath the tables leaving a wide aisle facing side by side podiums. The tables where round with six place settings over stark white linen covers. Each table graced a three foot tall vase of colorful bouquets tall enough as to allow unhampered eye contact or movement.
He was seated returning a nod or two from associates he recognized from the Atlanta office.
As dinner progressed several speakers attempted to sooth a general tense atmosphere with light rhetoric bringing with it general update information in the process. It was near the end of a full course prime rib dinner-a dinner Sal barely touched-before the closed door conference meetings were addressed.
Details of the Corporation's plans had been e-mailed to the various employees as the dinner progressed, and all were advised questions surrounding the event would be discussed at the conference meetings tomorrow morning.
Sal's mouth dropped as the Battle of the Bands event was played out.
It adopted general consensus of the ideas he'd e-mailed in memo format earlier in the day.
The chosen site of this years event was Denver and the exact location City Park as he'd recommended.
Denver's ability to accommodate large tourist populations and it's relative easy access reasoned it favorable over the previously considered small city of Aspen. Denver International Airport only fifteen miles from downtown, coupled with major highway access serviced by Interstates 70, 76, and 25 the deciding factors.
The date of the event and venue had also been changed as recommended by Sal's memo. Instead of the traditional early December weekend, the event was re-scheduled just two weeks away-the weekend of October 18th & 19th.
The National Weather Service promised that weekend would bring mild conditions in the middle of a Denver warming trend. Chinook winds resulting from warm air passing over the mountains to the west would bring late summer conditions.
A fall festival would be the theme of the event scheduled at the height of Denver's 'Gold Rush' fall season landscape.
The three music corporations' decision to push forward the event was based on an healing factor. A festival of such proportions would bring with it a renewal of life celebration that beat within the heart of all music-at least previous to the disastrous release of "King of the World."
World wide promotion of the event was already in motion. Special discount packages were being worked out with the hotel and motel industry in the region with the big three subsidizing the off set costs.. Major television rights had been obtained as the event would also be televised in over 65 countries around the world..
Addressing the Mad Muse catastrophe, the corporations agreed the best defense was a good offense. In a bold advertising campaign using reverse psychology Herman Gilespie and MENACE would be exploited as the 'power of music' gone bad. MENACE Halloween costumes- Herman Gilespie masks-would be hugely promoted as the dark evil for which it was.
In a bold commitment the music industry would promote it's self as knight and shinning armor creating a major division dedicated to the pre-viewing of all new music previously released to insure the plaque within MENACE music would never again be unleashed into the world.
Huge promotional packages were being schemed to draw the attention of music lovers world wide including free concert tickets- major artist's title releases - cash sweepstakes-world tour vacation packages.
A huge relief engulfed The Ball Room followed by applause-cheers and outbreaks of standing ovation.
The atmosphere suddenly party like in nature as late news had hit the wires with already positive response from stock values showing a rise at the last few moments before the closing bell on wall street. Anticipation filled the air opening stocks Friday morning would reflect dramatic positive results as the news spread across the world.
The biggest shocker for Sal was that his name was announced as executive head of The Mad Muse campaign...Suddenly he was surrounded by thundering applause of his associates...
Sitting now in Ellyington's enjoying a good meal-after a good night sleep. He felt a strength of purpose combining an earned wisdom forged from a lesson well taken.
Spring time had always been Sal's favorite time of year. Today however, he'd found within himself a new appreciation of the swollen fall colors offered just outside the restaurant. A sense of maturity reflected in the season he now identified within himself.
Never again would he allow himself to fall victim of circumstance. The Mad Muse campaign was going to be a huge success. His mind's eye could finally see the red carpet ahead of him at the end of the tunnel..Soon it would unroll for him and the wine, women and song would certainly follow.



Los Angeles

Under days of extreme stress FBI Chief Jarold Dodd often confided to closer subordinates that he should have been a farmer.
Taking in the burning accusations registered in the eyes of Special Agent
Cyrus Denason his thoughts recognized this to be one of those days.
Raised in the mid-west on his fathers' two thousand acre farm Dodd spent his teen age years fascinated with the adventurous lives of characters depicted in crime solve mystery novels. Many a night his tiny upstairs bedroom glowed with oil lamps as he lay engrossed in chapters of Raymond Chandler that eroded his father's expectations with every turning page.
His dream of escaping the long monotonous days of farming life were realized when at the age of eighteen he was accepted into the cadet program of a small town police force- much to the expected disappointment of his father.
Now, after almost a third century the residue of living year after year under the glaring disapproval of his father's countenance still affected him- Dodd found confrontation difficult to digest.
He'd thought he recognized some of his father's overbearing personality in the demeanor of Agent Cyrus Denason-a man Jarold had not liked from first association over five years ago.
Denason was an ivy leaguer graduated from West Point, and had served time in the military enlisting at the rank of Lieutenant.
His aggressive nature soon advanced him into the Special Forces Division of Army Intelligence where he honed his skills specializing in interrogation. Leaving with a reputation of one who produced results no matter the cost.
Dodd believed Denason was a man who conceived himself the very center of life. Viewing anyone and everyone as tools- contacts who's only legitimate purpose was in the acknowledgment and support of his own convictions. His imposing size of six foot four and obsession with weight lifting served his image of self superiority perfectly. Dodd had sensed the man found joy when those attributes cowered anyone who dared question his motives.
Denason now stood towering directly over the desk of Jarold Dodd. Bearing jealous contempt for the man who's job he fully expected to claim within a years time. He saw Dodd as soft and hated the mans pudgy features and diplomatic persona. Denason felt a growing repulsion increase with every passing moment in Dodd's presence.
He had pulled strings to get a private meeting with Dodd and had no intention of leaving before the fat bastard caved in and gave him what he'd come for.
The case of the Mad Muse was high profile. The kind of case Denason had been waiting for. It was the perfect vehicle to propel him to the top of the chain. He was not about to allow Dodd to ruin his chances of advancement over some old chum relationship between the Chief and LA's detective Pigg.
He felt his rock hard muscles fully tense up- Stifling an urge to reached across the desk and strangle Dodd where he sat.
"I want to know why your dogging me on this case!"
Dodd watched a throbbing vein pop out on Denason's temple and answered level toned ."Why don't you have a seat Agent?"
It was a command not a question, and Denason backed up stiffly taking a seat in the office chair in front of the desk.
"I am head investigator in this office Dodd and I want the case."
Dodd was fully aware of Denason's strong arm tactics. He believed the rumors Denason had been compiling personal files on every successful politician and law enforcement agency in the country. Accessing sensitive materials on individual government employees using his security clearance and hacking capabilities learned while involved with Army intelligence. Dodd was pretty sure Denason had a file on him as well. Denason was smart enough to patiently gather enough dirt on a target then use it when the time was right.
Every body had skeletons hiding somewhere in their past, and the more success an individual enjoyed the more weight those mistakes carried if exposed.
Dodd figured Denason must have got to someone pretty high up the food chain.The memo waiting for him when he'd arrived at the office today requested he work with Denason as much as possible. The memo was straight out of Washington DC., and Dodd knew of one or two of the brass out there had a thing for young prostitutes...
Denason was proving himself a formidable enemy.
Dodd controlled himself although he hated having to appease the likes of Denason.
" One..You've got three open cases on your plate Agent Denason."
Denason shot back.."Three minor cases compared to this!"
Dodd didn't allow the interruption to derail him.."Two...This case is of a sensitive nature requiring a investigator with specific experience skills to address it."
Denason flew out of his chair planting his knuckles on Dodd's desk.."Hal Pigg?..Stinking LA cops?"
Dodd blinked but didn't budge.."I told you to sit down Denason!"
Several seconds past as Denason's black eyes bore into Dodd. His big arms shook as he fought to control himself. Slowly he slid his knuckles off the desk and sat down hard- spitting to Dodd in a seething mockery.
" Maybe you ought to check your memo's Chief."
Dodd glared back as seconds past like minutes. He stood up and turned to the office window over looking downtown Los Angeles. Should have been a farmer he thought to himself.
"Fine...You want to be on the case?...Your on the case...But Pigg stays in charge!..You got that?...Your working for him."
"Bullshit!" Denason yelled gripping the office chair arm rests..."That's bullshit!"
Dodd swung around, "You want to know what bullshit is Denason? Bullshit is I haven't suspended you yet for insubordination!"
He marched up to Denason and was sure he saw a hint of confusion in the man's eyes.."Your scare tactics might work against some fuck wad over in Washington, but they don't mean shit to me!..If I say Pigg stays in charge, he stays in charge!..Now get the fuck out of my office!"
Denason stood up slow and walked to the door as Dodd sat down at his desk..
"Oh, and one more thing Agent Denason."
Denason waited not turning around as Dodd continued.
" Here at the FBI, we don't consider any open cases as minor."